


So, roll the dice, boy, 'cause my money’s on you

by lanyon



Series: Bad Boy Boogie [5]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-08 22:27:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5515565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lanyon/pseuds/lanyon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Aces win the Stanley Cup and Kent breaks another heart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	So, roll the dice, boy, 'cause my money’s on you

**Author's Note:**

> +Title from Glen Hansard  
> + **Warnings** for ill-judged kissing and unrequited affections and Kent Parson.

_Until Rick Desmond’s injury forced rookie goalie Kristian Kivi between the pipes, the young Finn had never had an NHL shut-out. In fact, in his game against the Chicago Blackhawks in February, few would have bet that he’d ever be stepping into the role in the Aces’ post-season._

_The Stanley Cup Final series, against the Boston Bruins, is going to be a challenge for this young team from Nevada. Kent Parson is an indubitable superstar, who would be welcome on any NHL roster, and he has led his team to the Stanley Cup finals in only his second year as captain. That formidable defence pairing of Sebastian Volkov and Charles Beasley has ensured that the Norris Trophy will be residing in the Aces’ roster for another season, with the only question being which of these D-men will win it, and the latest iteration of the fourth line, with Niklas Einarsson, Calder contender Gabriel Charbonneau and Jakub Bartos, has been high-scoring and hard-hitting._

♠

It goes to seven. Of course it does. The Aces are lucky. They were three-one down and somehow, they’ve clawed it back, and now they’re in Boston, exhausted and so fucking hairy, Kent can’t take it.

Not that Kent is particularly hirsute but it’s a bit galling that both Kivs and Charbo have outgrown him on the beard front. None of them can match Bash or Beastly though and Desi has come with them. He’s come to all their games, on crutches, and that man’s got flow. 

It’s four hours till puck drop and Kent is most avowedly not napping. Charbo’s stretched out on his bed, staring at the ceiling, and Kent knows they’re both just waiting for the call to go to the bus. 

“We’re going to win it,” says Charbo, breaking the silence with hoarse words. They’re all a bit hoarse by now, from shouting and from some virus that’s been doing the rounds. Everyone is aching, even the teenagers and the rookies but they want this Cup. They want to win.

Kent picks up his phone. He has a lot of texts, from family and from friends. There’s one from Bob Zimmerman, wishing him well. He knows that Bob and Alicia will be there tonight and he doesn’t dare to ask if Jack will be there. 

He thinks about texting Jack, which means he probably will text Jack, for advice that Jack will never send.

♠

Gabriel absolutely does not intend to get into a fight with Zdeno Chara in the last game of the Stanley Cup final series because no one intends to get into a fight with someone who’s a foot taller than him. 

Chara’s bugging Barty, though, and Barty’s not a fighter. Gabriel has no idea what they’re saying to each other because he thinks they might actually, usually be friends. 

Chara and Gabriel tangle by the boards and it’s ungainly and then there are gloves on the ice and the roar in the TD Garden lifts the rafters and usually Gabriel can hold his own but he’s flailing to little effect. 

He’s down and out embarrassingly fast but his team are rattling their sticks and cheering him on and it’s such a strange thing to motivate them but it seems to do something because, in the next shift, Parse scores a goal. It’s messy, like everything else in this series, but it’s good and Gabriel punches the air, even though he’s in the box. 

Giddings reams him out of it at the break but Bash thumps him on the shoulder as they leave the locker room for the third period and Gabriel figures he hasn’t fucked up too badly. They can’t afford for him not to be on the ice but Giddings basically says that if there was any choice, Gabriel would be cooling his heels on the bench for the rest of the game.

The third period starts and continues, chaotic. Bergeron equalizes and then, somehow, Bash scrambles in another goal, within a forty-second period. It went in off his skate but it’s ruled good and now the Bruins are throwing everything at them. 

Each shift is hard-fought and Gabriel feels like he’s barely got his breath back before he’s back out on the ice. When his goal comes, it’s as much a surprise to him as it is to anyone else. Henrikson sends the puck to Olafsson and it ricochets off Seguin’s skate and into Gabriel’s path and he just skates as fast as he can and there’s no one with him so he just goes for it, head down and he can’t hear anything but blood rushing in his ears. He goes for the slapshot and it pings in off the near post and Rask is just not fast enough. 

Gabriel stares at the goal and the puck has bounced back out and he’s not even sure it’s good before Barty’s ramming into him which officially hurts more than a Chara haymaker. 

♠

Kent’s on the ice when the clock runs out. He throws his stick to one side, his helmet to the other and he’s launching himself at Jeff who lifts him up. They did it, _he_ did it. He’s a Stanley Cup champion. 

Bash and Beastly hammer into them because of course they were on the ice for that final shift and Kent is caught in a crush of his teammates. 

He shakes hands with Giddings who laughs and pulls him into a hug, thumping his back. Desi comes out on the ice, crutches and all, and he’s communing with Kivs and Kent couldn’t be fucking prouder of his goalies and, when he turns around, Barty has his arm hooked around Charbo’s neck and they both look ecstatic. Kent skates over to them and he wraps his arms around Charbo. 

“ _Best_ rookie, holy fuck, Charbo,” he shouts and if he’s hoarse now, he won’t be able to speak tomorrow but who fucking cares? Sasha and Zarbo are jumping up and down on the ice and look about fifteen years younger than they are, even though they’re veterans winning the Stanley Cup for the first time.

Kent wins the Conn Smythe, which he hadn’t even been thinking about, and Dima has to nudge him forward to get it. 

Lifting the Stanley Cup, though. Kent can’t even express how it feels. He knows that it’s a fucking heavy piece of silverware but it weighs nothing as he skates over to the visiting fans who are going ballistic behind the glass. He hands it off to Sasha, because it’s only right and then he joins his parents. His dad has this small smile on his face and he’s clearly taking it all in and the girls are wide-eyed and his mom just throws herself at him.

“ _So_ proud of you, baby boy,” she says and Kent hopes there are no microphones anywhere.

♠

Gabriel just needs a moment to breathe so he rounds the corner to the showers. His t-shirt which says _Stanley Cup Champion 2012_ is sticking to him with sweat, and champagne, and beer and maybe tears, too (though they’re not all his; Aurelie clung to him on the ice and sobbed that she was so proud of him). 

He’s leaning against the tiled wall when someone else comes in. It’s Kent, who sees Gabriel and smiles widely.

“Just needed a moment,” he says, which kind of surprises Gabriel because Kent is always in the thick of it and he seems to revel in being adored. 

“I hear you,” says Gabriel, and he closes his eyes and smiles. He feels Kent next to him and they’re shoulder to shoulder.

“You were so good,” says Kent. “I just - _fuck_ , Chara, though, what were you thinking?”

Gabriel laughs, quietly, and there’s a roar from the locker room. “Not sure I was thinking. He was getting under Barty’s skin.”

Kent laughs too and he moves and now he’s standing in front of Gabriel. “Never thought you’d be here, huh?” he asks, and he’s not being unkind.

Gabriel shakes his head. “Not sure I believe it, still.” 

“Believe it, kid. You started a fight and scored a goal and you’re a Stanley cup champion.” 

“Didn’t start the fight,” says Gabriel and he reaches up to tug at Kent’s shirt, which is as damp as his and kind of sticking to Kent’s stomach. 

“Sure as hell didn’t finish it either,” says Kent and Gabriel loves him when he’s like this, sharp and teasing and bright, like shards of light. 

“I hate starting things I can’t finish,” says Gabriel.

Their voices are quieter now and Kent is crowding against Gabriel. Kent reaches up and his hands are in Gabriel’s hair which is longer than it’s ever been in his life. Kent’s kiss is a breath across his lips, at first, and then a touch of tongue to Gabriel’s lower lip and then they’re kissing hard, gasping and brutal and Gabriel’s fingers are digging into Kent’s sides. 

“Kent,” whispers Gabriel, when he finally has to pull back for breath. His voice sounds small and broken. “ _Kent_.”

Kent steps back which is not what Gabriel wants, and he doesn’t want Kent to untangle his fingers from Gabriel’s hair but he does that too.

“Shit,” says Kent. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“I don’t,” says Gabriel, confused, his hands still on Kent’s waist. “I don’t mind,” he says.

“There’s someone else,” says Kent and Gabriel drops his hands.

“Oh,” says Gabriel. “Oh. I’m sorry.” 

“Shit, no. I am. I. Look, I’m just gonna go back into the others.” Kent goes back towards the locker room but he turns before he leaves the showers entirely. “You really did fucking great, though, kid. All season.”

Gabriel waits for Kent to leave. He screws his fists up tight because he won’t let this take away from his moment. Maybe he can pretend that it never happened and that he has no idea what it feels like, to be kissed by Kent Parson. 

He wonders, scattered, what came over Kent. 

When he goes back to join everyone else, he can’t see Kent but it’s probably for the best. Barty comes over and hands Gabriel a mostly-empty bottle of champagne.

“Sshh,” says Barty. “In no way, I encourage under-age drinking but you deserve it.”

Gabriel laughs softly and is surprised that it doesn’t feel fake or forced. “Cheers, Barty.” 

He tips the champagne back and swallows it down and washes away any lingering taste of Kent Parson.

♠

“Uh, hey, Zimms. I guess you’ve heard that we did it. I hope you saw the game. I talked to your parents afterwards. They say you’re doing really well at college. Jack Zimmermann, college boy, huh? I - I really wish you’d been here tonight. I miss you, so fucking much. I’m gonna start doing stupid things. I hope you’re okay. I’ll see you soon, buddy.”

♠

Kent doesn’t think Charbo’s avoiding him; they still had to room together, on the night they won the cup and Charbo was tired and amiable. It’s probably just coincidence that they ended up on different buses for the cup tour and that Kent’s hardly seen him at the party. 

Eventually, he does catch sight of him, though, talking to Kivs and Kivs’ very tiny girlfriend. Charbo has shaved his stubble but he hasn’t cut his hair and it suits him, curling down below his ears, almost to his shoulders. 

“Your rookie did good,” says Jeff. 

Kent doesn’t know how he feels about it, except that Charbo probably is his rookie. Charbo’s laughing now which is good because it means that Kent didn’t fuck him up. 

“New ones next year,” says Kent. “Reckon they’ll be as good?”

“We’ll make sure they are.” Jeff knocks back his beer. “You know what you’re gonna do with your cup day?”

“Yeah,” says Kent. “Yeah, I think I do.”

He bumps into Charbo when they’re both leaving and Charbo smiles at him, brilliantly. 

Kent opens his mouth to say something but then his phone buzzes in his pocket and he looks down and sees that there’s a text from Jack Zimmermann. 

_Congratulations._

When he looks up again, his mouth dry and his heart pounding, Charbo has gone.

♠

The Las Vegas Aces are going to need a bigger trophy room.

**Hart Memorial Trophy** : Kent Parson  
**James Norris Memorial Trophy** : Charles Beasley  
**Calder Memorial Trophy:** Gabriel Charbonneau  
**Art Ross Trophy:** Kent Parson

The real question, now that the dust has settled, is this: Can they do it again?

**Author's Note:**

> +Yes, the only reason I had the Aces play the Bruins was for Charbo to fight someone a foot taller than him. There is a lot of suspension of belief required here, not least that Charbo would win the Calder over Landeskog but, hey, kid's gotta have something go his way.


End file.
